Survivor
by gf7
Summary: Helena is captured by an old foe. Fearing the worst, Barbara turns to Reese for help.


Title: Survivor  
  
Author: Shawn Carter  
  
Email: gfshawn@earthlink.net  
  
Website: Not currently available.  
  
Feedback: Please. Always appreciated.  
  
Disclaimer: No infringement is intended. I don't own these characters. I don't have rights to the show. If I did.I never would have gotten the WB network involved.  
  
Summary: Helena is captured by an old enemy. Desperate and fearing the worst, Barbara reaches out to Reese for help.  
  
Rating: PG-13. Adult situations. Violent content. Definate language. Angst.  
  
Additional Notes: In the comic book, Barbara is often called Babs. Hence the use here. There are a few small illusions to the comics. However since the show clearly treats the hows to why Babs was shot different than the KILLING JOKE, I took a little creative liberty.  
  
Music: The lyrics below are from FORGIVEN by Alanis. The title is Reba.  
  
****  
  
  
  
"What I learned I rejected but I believe again  
  
I will suffer the consequence of this inquisition  
  
If I jump in this fountain, will I be forgiven?"  
  
****  
  
Her head hit the ground with a sickening thud and if that had been the end of it, well then that would have been merciful indeed. But she could still hear the voices. They echoed against her skull, pounding like small hammers. She tried, with her fading moments of consciousness to identify who was speaking and for the briefest of moments, she knew...  
  
Barbara.  
  
But it all faded so quickly. Red swirled in her brain and the darkness crept forward. She lifted her hands up, trying to find focus, searching for balance. It was all so elusive. She tried to speak but her mouth was suddenly dry.  
  
Her eyes managed to open for just a moment and she looked up and into the eyes of her captor. He smiled at her through broken teeth and then he shoved his foot forward. She wondered for a moment what he was doing and then the large black boot slammed violently against her skull. She heard a crack and then everything went cold and dark. Her last thought as the thick velvet cape surrounded her was to wonder if she was about to die.  
  
"Mom..." Helena Kyle murmured.  
  
The man above her smiled. "Soon enough," he promised. "You'll be joining her before you know it." He was smiling while he spoke but his steel gray eyes remained deathly cold. And yet they seemed to dance. He was excited.  
  
****  
  
"Huntress? Huntress? Please respond," Barbara Gordon urged. It had been at least seven minutes since Helena had said anything. That alone wasn't necessarily anything to worry about and typically she'd just assume that her young charge was simply not responding. This was different though. The noises she'd heard through the ear piece had been extraordinarily violent. Even for Helena.  
  
"Still nothing?" Dinah asked, moving to stand next to the woman who had once been known as Batgirl.  
  
Babs shook her head, the frustration growing. "I don't hear fighting," she said, more to herself than to the young girl standing at her side. "Helena? Are you alright?"  
  
The silence that greeted her chilled her all the way to the bone. She'd once made a career out of trusting her instincts and now those senses were screaming at her that something had gone very wrong.  
  
"Mom..."  
  
Her head snapped up. "Helena?" She moved closer to the microphone, almost toppling her wheelchair in the effort. "Helena, are you alright?"  
  
And then she heard the crack. She wondered then if the sound would haunt her for the rest of her life. Kind of like the other noise that never left her dreams; that of her spine shattering into what had felt like a thousand pieces. That moment had lasted maybe half a second before all of the feeling in her legs had bled out onto the carpet. The sound however was on the everyday play list in her brain. This new one had just etched itself a spot on the golden hits chart.  
  
She felt Dinah place a steadying hand on her shoulder. Kind of like she knew. The girl was intuitive like that. "She's there," Dinah said, her voice un-naturally quiet for a girl of her years. But then, she'd already been through so much. Having your mother die to protect you was the kind of thing that changed you in some way or another. So far, the changes had been good if not a tad bit disconcerting. In the small space of just a few weeks, Dinah had already grown so much. The Black Canary would be proud. So terribly proud.  
  
"Helena," Babs inquired, trying to keep her tone even. "Do you need back- up?"  
  
Silence greeted her in cold steel sheets. And then she heard a clank followed by a dull crack and then the line began to buzz in her ear.  
  
"It's dead," Babs said dully.  
  
"Dead," Dinah repeated, the confidence bleeding away from her voice.  
  
"The earpiece is no longer functioning," Babs replied, almost clinically. She could taste the fear in her voice as it flooded her mouth, tainting her air. "It's been deactivated."  
  
"Could it have been broken in the fight?" Dinah asked, sounding desperate. She was still a kid. Even the strongest kid got scared. Especially when she'd just gotten a new family and they were being threatened. "Maybe it fell out?"  
  
"Maybe," Barbara agreed. She reached across the counter and felt for the keys. Her fingers closed around the icy metal and an involuntarily gasp escaped her lips. For some reason or another, she hadn't been expecting the coolness. "Br...bring the van around," she murmured. "We need to get there. She could be hurt."  
  
Dinah never hesitated. She reached out for the keys and gently squeezed her substitute mothers' hand. She felt memories and thoughts flood her brain but chose not to dwell on them. There would be time enough for that later. Besides, it wasn't like she quite understood the sheer violence and pain of the images that had invaded her skull. There were so many ghosts there. So many unresolved nightmares. A psych like the one Helena was seeing would have a field day with her. And still get nowhere.  
  
The moment Dinah left the room, Babs let her head hit the table. She left it there for a long moment, enjoying the feel of the cool metal against her feverish skin. It suddenly felt so hot. So very hot. Her clothing pulled at her, threatening to yank the very air from her lungs. She was wearing jeans and a wife beater. Hardly suffocating.  
  
Just the same.  
  
Helena had been in trouble before. With her, it was almost the nature of the beast. The girl was stubborn, bold and impetuous. She lived on her impulses and enjoyed walking a tightrope. From the moment she had taken Helena in- just an angry teenager then- she'd known that it would be a constant uphill battle to keep the frightened child from self-implosion. She, like her mother, seemed to be addicted to danger. She, like her father, seemed to become more tormented with every waking breath.  
  
And yet they had become family. Just as Bruce had once adopted a heartbroken young boy whose family had been brutally taken from him, she had reached out to a tormented girl who seemed to live her life for the simple ideal that one day she would finally get to strike down the monster who had taken her mother from her.  
  
The Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime. The most fucked up card in a fucked up deck.  
  
The same son of a bitch who had planted a metal slug into her spine and then laughed as she had fallen to the ground, eyes still open and aware. He had cackled manically as the blood had seeped into the two hundred dollar rug that Bruce had given her for Christmas. And then he had almost giggled when she had desperately cried out for her father.  
  
"Daddy."  
  
Helena had said mom.  
  
It was all the same.  
  
The sound of impending death. And then the terrible fear that maybe there were things worse than dying. Absolute hell.  
  
She had survived the Jokers' bullet by luck alone. A neighbor had heard the gunshot and then from the safety of his own apartment he had called the police. She could remember flashes from that night but little more. Her father, nearly broken, begging her to hold on. Dick Grayson, watching her so intently, unable to speak the words that might have healed her instantly. And Bruce. God Bruce. When would they all ever forgive themselves for being so damn young and hopeful? Bruce had watched her from the corner, his eyes dark and shadowed. Full of guilt. Full of self-hate. He had lived with those emotions for a long time but she could see in those brief moments when their eyes had connected that her injury had shattered him as much as it had her.  
  
She had wondered for a long time why he had fled New Gotham. Had it been the death of his beloved? Had it been the reign of terror that the Joker had brought down on the city? Had it been the destruction of one of the two warriors he had trained with his own hands and in his own image? Or had it been the vicious combination of all three, all of which he had been helpless to stop.  
  
One of the greatest heroes to have ever drawn breath and he hadn't been able to protect anyone that night. His eyes had said so much as he had gazed at her from across the room. So much pain. So much hurt.  
  
God, so much guilt.  
  
Oh Bruce.  
  
That had been the last time she had seen him. Alfred had told her that he rather believed that Bruce had been at Selena Kyle's funeral but there was simply no proof and even Alfred didn't quite seem sure. Or maybe he just didn't want to tell her what his masters' eyes had looked like.  
  
"Barbara?" Dinah said, approaching the red-haired former crime fighter. "We're ready."  
  
Babs nodded quickly, turning the controls of her chair so that she moved away from the girl. Too many emotions were flowing too quickly. She needed more control.  
  
"Okay," she said softly, the dread sweeping through her. She knew the feeling well. Deep in the core of her heart, if she were honest with herself, she had known from the moment she had touched the door to her apartment that her life was about to change. It had been like electricity and then it had been nothing. And she had seen it coming in the instant she had touched the door.  
  
But that resided in the darkness of her soul. And Barbara Gordon would never speak of it. Ever.  
  
Because then she would have to understand why she had ever opened the door in the first place. Then maybe she'd have to take some of the blame for what had happened to her...  
  
*****  
  
He slid backwards into his chair and sighed. It was slow. For once. He should have been pleased. Hell, even thankful. Detective Jesse Reese knew better. The quiet wasn't calm; it was a distraction meant to hide the ugliness of the night from anyone who might give a damn enough to try to make a difference.  
  
He tapped his pen against the polished wood of his desk. He chuckled a bit then as he contemplated the benefits of a detectives' shield. Get a promotion, get a sweet desk and a heavy paperweight that doubled as a name plaque. Being a cop was great like that. Bad coffee and thugs trying to pump you full of lead. And that was breakfast.  
  
Really though, it was all very easy. Good guys, bad guys. You dealt. You figured out which was which and you handled them accordingly. The bad guys got punished for their crimes. They did their time. The good guys lived free.  
  
Worked in theory anyways.  
  
But lately things had gotten complicated.  
  
She was beautiful in a way that was new to him.  
  
He was certainly not a novice with women. He'd done his time in the trenches of a long relationship. The type that burned you to the bone by the end of it. He had moved on from that with just a few more scars and a few more horror stories.  
  
But damn if she wasn't something different. Something that made his body whistle. Something that made the long forgotten teenager in him poke his head out of his carefully constructed cave.  
  
Huntress. That alone excited him in a way he dare not dwell on. It brought on images of a sleek, sexual and aggressive predator. It made him think of the kind of bodily contact he'd been trying to swear off for a long time. The type he swore off after every relationship inevitably crashed and burned into a pile a fiery debris.  
  
"Hey Reese, you're up," Jason Kennedy said from the doorway. "You got reports of gunfire down at the pier."  
  
Detective Jesse Reese stood up and stretched. His back cracked loudly beneath the effort. He sighed a bit, more exhausted than he had anticipated. He blamed her really; she was keeping him up at night.  
  
But that was another issue altogether.  
  
*****  
  
There was blood on the ground. In fact it was streaked across the cement. It wasn't quite maroon yet but it was drying quickly. It wasn't the blood that frightened her however; it was the necklace lying discarded just inches away.  
  
Helena's. It had came from her mother and the young woman was never without it. Around her neck. In her pocket. Always with her. They'd never spoken about it. They'd never had to.  
  
"She's alive," Babs croaked, scared that the words were deliberate lies. "But she's hurt." She knew that her assumption was baseless but she had to believe. There was no body and for now at least, that was a good thing.  
  
"We'll find her," Dinah reassured her, sounding as uncertain as she obviously felt.  
  
Barbara reached down and picked up the necklace. She turned it over in her palm, her eyes fixed on the broach. Bruce had given Selena it. It'd been one of his crazy gifts. The type that seemed to be a gentle urge to behave while at the same time encouraging the wildness that seemed to breed within her.  
  
"We need to go," Barbara said, her voice almost devoid of emotion. She could hear the sirens in the distance. They were coming here of course which meant that she couldn't be there. They'd never understand. They'd choose not to try.  
  
The world had forgotten.  
  
Eight years ago, Batman had been more than a legend. He had been justice. There had been people who had been unable and unwilling to accept a man in a costume fighting for justice. Her own by-the-book father had been one of them. So he had never known that his daughter had also been a creature of the night do-gooder. He could never have dealt. He still couldn't.  
  
Still, Batman had been real.  
  
Gotham had been a dark place then. Full of criminal masterminds and murder. Bane. The Riddler. The Scarecrow.  
  
Batman had fought them all and brought crime to it's' knees. Even her father had been forced to accept the caped crusader then. He had been good for Gotham. He had been justice.  
  
Now those same monsters sat huddled in Arkham. Forgotten.  
  
And waiting for the day when they would continue what they had started and people let them because they had forgotten the truth about Gotham. The truth about the world in which they lived.  
  
People couldn't remember when the town had changed names but she could. After the Joker's last stand. Not his final stand, surely but his last. He had caused so much pain, so much destruction. And then everything had changed. Fire had swept through the city, cleansing it almost and blinding people to the pain they simply couldn't deal with. They wanted to forget; so they did.  
  
Heroes and villains had becomes meta-humans. The bright costumes had slipped into the darkness of shades of leather. And Batman had become a legend that no one believed had ever existed. A myth told in which no one was quite sure who the good guys or the bad guys were.  
  
So many of the heroes had slipped away. Some had removed their masks and were now trying to live as if they too couldn't remember how it had once been. Others, like Dick Grayson, had done what he could. He had moved to Bludhaven and become a cop. He had done what he could to keep fighting the good fight. But it was more than that. He had been Robin when he had been fighting beside his adopted father. After Bruce had disappeared, he had become Nightwing.  
  
But he was still fighting. He was still Dick. And he still remembered when so many other people had chosen to forget. They had all decided to believe that Batman was nothing more than a myth. That maybe life was better without the type of hero Batman had been.  
  
The sirens grew closer. They were right around the corner. She glanced around the room and saw two bodies collapsed in the corner. It was obvious that both of them were quite dead. They looked like security officers.  
  
Poor bastards. Sometimes you didn't have to wear a cape to be a hero. Sometimes just choosing to be there was enough. And sometimes, you still got hurt just for that.  
  
She could feel Dinah place an arm around her shoulder. The young girl led her back into the van and then helped her up in to it. She opened her mouth as if to ask if Babs was ok. Wisely, she thought better of it.  
  
She wasn't ready for the truth anyways.  
  
*****  
  
Consciousness came slowly. It stirred around her like a spinning top, offering to help her up but then laughing cruelly as she fell back with each movement. She blinked and tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain but they held on tight. Her body refused to respond to her and for a moment, she wondered if it ever would again.  
  
And then her leg moved. Just an inch or two but enough to allow her to let a caught breath of air out between her tightly clenched teeth. She lifted her hand to touch her face and felt something thick and wet around her forehead.  
  
Blood.  
  
She was bleeding. Heavily it would seem. Well that would certainly account for the dizziness and the whole barely being able to move.  
  
"You're awake. I'm impressed," the voice said from above her. She felt a hand touch her cheek. It was cold and calloused and for some reason or another, it made her skin crawl and her stomach roll.  
  
"Where am I?" she asked. Only the words didn't quite come out that way. They were more slurred and disorientated and she wasn't quite sure that they were even in the right order.  
  
"Safe," the man replied, his hand still on her cheek. She rather wished he'd move it. "At least for now. It's a shame really..."  
  
"Why? Planning on killing me? Gonna miss me muchly?" she managed to drawl out. It was supposed to come off dry but she imagined that the blood dripping down her jaw was killing off some of the toughness.  
  
She was hurt. Badly. It was something that she was unused to. This kind of pain was somewhat new. Sure, she'd taken her share of damage but that was always followed by Barbara ordering her to bed for a few days and then heaping bowls upon bowls of soup on her until she thought she was literally about to become the chicken.  
  
Soup wasn't exactly looking imminent.  
  
He hit her. Hard enough to make all the colours swirl anew. She gasped for breath, practically begging for consciousness. She feared that if she passed out again, she'd never awaken.  
  
"It's a shame what he wants to do with you," the man leered at her. She honestly didn't really care what he was saying though because in her muddled brain, it was all just very loud noise. "I think you have better possibilities." He sighed then and stood up. "But you're not worth fifteen thousand dollars."  
  
Her eyes opened a bit and she managed just the slightest bit of a smile. "Fifteen thousand? That's all? You got hosed."  
  
He hit her again. This time much harder. An oversized class ring on his hand scrapped against her cheek and left a bloody wake. But by then she hardly cared; she was already spinning back into the darkness.  
  
*****  
  
The water dripped down her face, cascading across her skin in cold sheets. The dirt fell away from her body but in her mind, it continued to coat her. Blackness all around. She held the bar along the side of the shower tightly, afraid that if she were to let it go and allow herself to fall, she might not try to rise.  
  
She knew that she needed to focus her mind and come up with a plan. Time was short and Helena was probably looking at only a few hours if that. They had no idea what kind of trouble she was in but it probably wasn't just a simple courtesy kidnapping to kindly ask them to stay out of someone's business.  
  
She contemplated calling Dick but then quickly abandoned the idea. They barely spoke these days, the pain between them far too thick. She feared that if she asked him to help and he wasn't able or they were too late, that might be the end of them for good. And she wasn't quite ready to deal with that.  
  
Perhaps it was selfish but she had already started to slip into a bit of self-preservation mode. Maybe Bruce had been too efficient in how he had trained them; they both had emotional hang-ups for days.  
  
Dick had lost his father that night. She had lost her mentor. And then when Dick had fled, she had lost the man she so deeply loved. But that was another story.  
  
Another one of those emotional hang-ups.  
  
She stepped out of the shower and dressed quickly. Jeans. Another wife- beater. Nothing fancy. She pulled on black socks and then lifted herself in to her chair.  
  
Her damned chair.  
  
It was wonderfully constructed really. State of the art. It buzzed a gentle blue beneath it as it responded to every her every impulse. She didn't even need to control it manually.it just knew. It was connected via sensors to her cerebral cortex. It was really quite amazing.  
  
It was her hell.  
  
"I finished running the search," Dinah said, calling out to her from the control center.  
  
"And?" Babs inquired, moving towards her. She could still feel the water dripping down her shoulders but she found herself having a bitch of a time giving a damn.  
  
"Only two come up. A senator from Rhode Island..."  
  
"Ashman," Babs put in. "No, he was convicted last week. He plead guilty and I don't think he ever realized we were after him. Nor do I think he has the resources to be able to figure out who we are."  
  
Dinah nodded. "Okay. Breslau?"  
  
Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Just a stupid henchman. He was one of the Joker's morons.the last one of his...gang."  
  
She stopped then, as if caught in thought. Caught in a nightmare.  
  
"Barbara?"  
  
"Oh God." she croaked out. "He knew I was Commissioner Gordon's daughter. What if he figured out who Helena was and decided to finish the job...oh God..."  
  
"I'm sure that's not it..." Dinah insisted. She locked eyes with Babs and held her gaze for a long terrifying moment. The things she had witnessed in Oracle's mind had been horrific. She rather guessed that Barbara was replaying them for herself right now. An on command greatest hits album right in her head.  
  
"I had forgotten. How did I forget?"  
  
"Forget what?" Dinah prompted. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I got a report two weeks ago from an unidentified source that said he believed that the Joker had escaped. The Feds denied it but I haven't been able to get any confirmation beyond that."  
  
"So.he did escape?"  
  
"Apparently," Barbara muttered, more to herself than to Dinah.  
  
Dinah took a deep breath," What do we do? I mean we do something right?" She stopped. "Of course, we do. What?"  
  
Barbara pulled herself violently from her thoughts. They would get her nowhere now. There would be plenty of time for that later. But if she failed to get to Helena before something happened...well then she rather guessed that the echo of her back shattering would be like the sounds of merry children laughing by comparison.  
  
Time was running out. The blood was soaking the carpet again. The Joker was getting ready to finish his vendetta against Batman.  
  
Typically she'd call in Nightwing. But that wasn't going to happen. Not tonight.  
  
Because even if she had wanted to, there wasn't enough time to call for Dick. He was in Bludhaven. He was probably even out and on patrol. No, she needed something far more local and at her disposal.  
  
"We get help," Barbara replied softly. "Any way we can."  
  
*****  
  
It had been a robbery. That was the official call. The two security guards had been watching a shipment of explosives that the Marines had been moving through the New Gotham port. The cargo had been on its way to Parris Island.  
  
Obviously it hadn't quite made it there.  
  
Jesse Reese sighed. He could feel the familiar ache in his bones that told him that things were about to get bad. Someone had been attempting for weeks to stockpile weapons. So far, they'd been thwarted every step of the way.  
  
Not this time.  
  
The fortunate thing was that the shipment had been very very small. Almost nothing really. A few detonators and a little bit of plastic. If someone was trying to get enough explosives to make a point, they'd need a lot more before they even started.  
  
"So, where were you?" he murmured, more to himself than to any of the cops moving around. He slipped away from them and back over to his desk. He hated when people looked at him, especially when it was quite obvious that he was just trying to work something out in his head.  
  
And that something was her as usual. Huntress.  
  
She hadn't been there to stop the robbery. That was odd. No...that was bizarre. She was always there. She knew. Somehow or another...she was always there to stop the bad guys from winning.  
  
Not this time. Something was wrong. And that bothered him more than he would like to admit.  
  
The phone rang then. Loudly. It pierced the staleness of his office and echoed against the walls.  
  
Almost shakily he lifted the phone. For some reason or another, he didn't speak. He just waited.  
  
He didn't wait long. Ten seconds maybe. Just an eternity.  
  
"Detective Reese?" the woman said, her voice uncertain.  
  
He recognized the voice; he'd spoken to her just a few weeks earlier. She'd been rather curt and brief but had managed to give him the information he had needed to do what he had needed to do.  
  
"Speaking," he said. He frowned at the slight tremble in his tone.  
  
"I need to meet with you."  
  
She had sounded different then. Full of confidence and in command. Not so much now. She sounded scared and alarmed. Shaken even.  
  
Bad. Bad. Bad. Oh so bad.  
  
"Okay," he replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. Maybe this would be a chance to finally get some answers about his mysterious occasional partner.  
  
"There's a café on Westmore called the Blue Beetle..."  
  
"I know of it."  
  
"Good. Meet me then in ten minutes. Please, please don't be late."  
  
"Okay. How will I know you?"  
  
"I'll know you. I'll find you. Please hurry."  
  
And then the line went dead.  
  
He stopped for a moment, allowing his well-trained instincts to take over. This woman was scared. Well okay, obviously. This woman needed his help. Not so obvious.  
  
He knew very little about whatever the hell Huntress was involved in but what he had gathered was that whatever it was, it was put together well. Whoever the Voice was, she was good at what she did. She didn't often need outside assistance from anyone. She was on top of her game.  
  
And always in control.  
  
Which meant that if she was out of control now, then something was wrong.  
  
He leapt to his feet then. A simple word escaped his lips. "Huntress."  
  
And the sheer panic that flew through his well-muscled body was devastating.  
  
*****  
  
"You're quite lucky," he said. He smiled then. Reaching across, he stroked her cheek almost lovingly. She didn't guess that he was contemplating a romantic evening walk on the beach.  
  
"How that?" she murmured, no longer bothering to try to annunciate her words. Who the hell cared? The guy was hardly a Harvard grad. She probably made more sense to him when she was slurring her words.  
  
"He's gonna do you himself," Dexter Breslau said with a maniacal grin. His boss would have been proud. "He doesn't come this way so much anymore... you know... he can't get caught... but he's making an exception for you."  
  
"Whoopee," she coughed out. She could feel the wetness of blood on her lips. She was beginning to really doubt that she was going to make it out. Especially if the idiot kept talking. "Maybe I can kick his ass and wipe that fucked up smile off his face once and for all..."  
  
He kicked her then, clearly infuriated. His eyes seemed to turn coal black. Maybe if she hadn't been so hurt that she could barely focus her eyes, she might have given a damn. Mostly she was just getting rather sick and tired and being kicked and punched because the goon had never completed his anger management courses.  
  
"You need to learn respect," Breslau hissed, nearly spitting on her. She could smell his breath, a foul combination of tobacco, alcohol and Bubble Yum. He pressed his lips to hers and then tried to jam his tongue into her mouth.  
  
She bit him of course.  
  
He howled and fell backwards, cursing as he jerked away.  
  
"Rape's pretty old school, don't you think?" she asked, anger pepping her for just a bit. Getting beat to all hell was one thing but she sure as hell wasn't about to become anyone's play toy.  
  
A blow up doll would do just fine for this guy.  
  
He moved towards her, his limbs swinging wildly. Obviously he hadn't quite gotten the message. Blood seeped from his torn lip but he seemed mostly oblivious. "Stupid bitch," he swore. Obviously twenty thousand dollars wasn't about to whet his appetite for a good sexual assault. His snapped his wrist and she saw a small knife with a gleaming blade appear in his grimy undersized palm. "You stupid, stupid bitch."  
  
She closed her eyes and brought every bit of energy she had left together. She kicked out violently.  
  
She felt her foot connect with him with a wet smack. He fell away from her and collapsed to the ground spasming. After a few minutes, he stopped shaking and she wondered if he had died.  
  
That hadn't been her intention but it didn't exactly break her heart either. She had always promised herself that she would never be anyone's victim.  
  
She heard him cough and sputter blood.  
  
"He's still coming for you," Dexter Breslau gasped out. "He'll rip you to pieces and leave you wishing he'd finish it."  
  
The words were garbled between bloody gasps. She had obviously kicked him in the throat.  
  
"He'll rip you to pieces," Breslau repeated. Then he coughed again. Once. Twice. A third time. And then that was that and he fell still.  
  
She shuddered alone in the darkness. Still bound in heavy rope and far too injured to move. Everything had gone into stopping Breslau from touching her. There simply wasn't anything more. She'd lost too much blood and her skull was at the very least cracked a bit. Had to be from all the waves of pain that continued to rip through her like bolts of electricity.  
  
Now all she could wonder was if she had just set herself up for certain defeat.  
  
Breslau had said that the Joker had planned to leave her wishing that he would just finish it. Which meant that he didn't intend to kill her. He simply meant to destroy her.  
  
Idly she wondered if maybe her mom hadn't gotten off easy.  
  
*****  
  
The Blue Beetle was nothing more than a hole in the wall bar with a scattering of tables. It had the smallest dance floor of any watering hole that he'd ever seen. Maybe large enough for two people. Three if the people involved really liked each other.  
  
He sat down at one of the tables, trying as best as he could to look casual. On the way over, he had pulled off his tie and jacket and was now just wearing a black dress shirt over a white wife-beater.  
  
"You still look like a cop," a soft voice said. He turned to face the speaker and then blinked.  
  
"Uh...hi?"  
  
The beautiful red-haired woman smiled at him. Had she been full of mirth, Reese was certain that he could have easily tricked his mind into forgetting about the oversized wheelchair in which she was seated in. As it were, she just looked fitfully sad.  
  
"Detective Reese?" she confirmed.  
  
"Yeah. I should call you? I mean do you have some fancy handle I'm supposed to refer to you by or can I actually get a name?"  
  
"Oracle."  
  
"Fancy handle it is," Reese muttered. "Okay...so why the urgency..."  
  
"I need your help," she said, quickly and impatiently cutting him off. "She's gone missing..."  
  
"She? Huntress?" Reese demanded, alarm slipping into his tone. He saw the woman react. Not much but just a bit. Something of a recoil. She collected herself quickly.  
  
"Yes. Huntress."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She was taken captive last night."  
  
"Was she at the pier?" Reese asked, his mind whirling. The attacks there had happened less than eight hours earlier. Around eleven at night. He glanced at his watch and was only slightly surprised to note that it was just after six in the morning. Time flew.  
  
Barbara nodded quickly. "She was. I believe she was taken captive by a member of a known gang."  
  
"Why?" Reese queried. He had wanted to ask her what gang but he was almost afraid of the answer.  
  
Barbara hissed impatiently. "That's not important. She's in trouble. You need to trust me here. She doesn't have a lot of time."  
  
"You people don't give me a hell of a lot of information," Reese protested.  
  
"I don't have a hell of a lot of information, Detective," Barbara exclaimed, the frustration bleeding out and tainting each of her words. "I have a missing girl who may already be dead. I have a lot of things that you're not yet ready to accept. Now I came to you because I thought there was something between the two of you..."  
  
"There is," he admitted quietly. He didn't care to elaborate on that. He couldn't even quite figure it out for himself; the idea of explaining it to someone else bordered on lunacy.  
  
"I need help," Barbara continued, her voice desperate.  
  
"I get that. But why me? You guys seem to always have everything under control," Reese said, standing up. He fished out a couple of one dollar bills from his pocket and tossed them on the table to pay for the coffee he had ordered while he had been waiting.  
  
"Because she trusts you."  
  
"She trusts me?" he asked incredulously. He moved around to the back of Barbara's chair, as if to offer to push it. Babs lifted a hand to tell him not to bother.  
  
"Yes but the rest of that is between the two of you." She stopped and paused, almost as if for dramatic effect. "I guess that all depends on if we find her in time."  
  
They stepped out into the morning light. He blinked quickly and then winced, his head suddenly pounded with an intensity he hadn't quite expected. Too little sleep would do that to you. "You're really worried, aren't you?"  
  
She nodded slowly. "I am. This is far worse than you can imagine. Any preconceptions you have about what she is...where she is from and what she might be hiding...I need you to put those away."  
  
"Okay, I can do that."  
  
"Good." She smiled, almost softly. "Now close your eyes."  
  
"Huh?" he said, his face contorting into an expression of confusion. "Why?"  
  
"Just do," Barbara Gordon replied. She leaned forward just a bit in her chair and reached for his arm. He thought that her grasp was fairly strong for a crippled woman. He turned to look at her but was stopped by a sharp prick into his left bicep.  
  
"Wha?" he managed, just before the lights went out. He would have hit the cement quite solidly if Dinah hadn't been mere inches behind him. She lowered him to the pavement and then the two women moved him to the van.  
  
"You think he'll be pissed?" Dinah asked as she shut the sliding door.  
  
Barbara looked at her young charge and then said softly, "You think I care?"  
  
*****  
  
She shuddered violently, the fever seizing her in waves. There were moments that didn't hurt so much. Those were usually achieved by an absolute lack of movement. Everything else felt like she was being split down the middle. Like she was dying from the inside out.  
  
Her vision was growing worse by the minute. That probably had something to do with the cracked skull she had likely suffered. The best case scenario was probably a severe concussion.  
  
She shifted her head slightly, trying to ignore the bolts of pain that raged through her. His body was still lying there. Of course. He was starting to smell. It had only been about three or four hours but the blood had long since congealed. She wondered idly when the rats would come. She hated rats. She could do with just about anything else but rats freaked her out to no end. It was silly really. After all, there were certainly worse things in life to be afraid of.  
  
He had promised her that she would suffer. He had assured her that she would wish for death. She wasn't the type to scare easily and maybe her fear was mostly related to the fact that the pain in her body was far worse than anything she had ever felt before. No doubt about it; she was in sheer agony.  
  
But really, it was so much more.  
  
She was terrified. The kind of mind-numbing, bone-crunching fear that paralyzed you in the moments you could least afford it. She was shaken all the way down to the core.  
  
"Alright Dex," she muttered, her words slurring incoherently. "When's the party start?"  
  
She chuckled and then coughed. She fought back hysteria and prayed violently for strength. She had already survived so much. It was so hard to contemplate that perhaps she had finally kicked her last foe.  
  
She tried to move a little bit; tried to take inventory of her binds. The ropes were thick and wet, obviously covered in her own blood and sweat. Her feet weren't tied but a quick check of them revealed that she lacked both the strength and the concentration to get them to do much more than shuffle a few inches. Pretty much a no-go there.  
  
She took a deep breath and tried to move the chair while she was in it. She wasn't quite sure what she hoped to accomplish but right now anything would be something.  
  
She felt it topple beneath her, the wood of the chair crackling under her weight. It would have been something worth celebrating if not for the fact that the impact of the fall caused another bolt of nausea to course through her lithe frame like wildfire.  
  
When the black hit her, all she could remember thinking was, "Well that was stupid, now wasn't it, Hel?"  
  
*****  
  
He looked around, his mind racing. The first thing that came to him was that he had been kidnapped. Taken against his will. His cop mind started running through the illegalities of the situation. The next thing that occurred to him was that he had been brought to her base of operations. And now finally, perhaps there would be answers.  
  
And then he remembered.  
  
"Huntress?" he murmured.  
  
"Right," the woman who had called herself Oracle said to him as she moved towards him. She was gliding really, looking graceful even while seated in the chair.  
  
"This is your lab?" he asked, standing up from the cot. His arm ached a bit but not enough to make an ordeal of it. Maybe when this was all over and Huntress was safe and taken care of, he'd used the minor wound as collateral for some answers.  
  
But that could wait for the time being.  
  
"It is," she replied. "Come with me."  
  
He nodded and then followed her out of the sliding doors and into a giant room that was filled with computers. There were oddly shaped gadgets everywhere and blinking lights on just about every wall.  
  
"Welcome home, Detective Reese."  
  
"Home?" he repeated. He looked around in amazement. It took everything he had to pull himself back together and out of geeker mode. "Okay...how does this help? I mean.kidnapping me..."  
  
"We didn't kidnap you. You said you'd help...I just needed to get you here."  
  
"I would have come willingly."  
  
"You need to understand...the location of this place..."  
  
"Don't bother," Reese said, waving his hand impatiently. "How does all of this help us find her? And how does me being here increase our chances?"  
  
Barbara sighed. Even in that simple noise, there was so much fear. "I've been pouring over these maps all night...I thought maybe a fresh set of eyes could help." She sounded frustrated by own inability to figure out the situation. To save her friend.  
  
"Maps?" Reese queried, moving over towards the row of monitors. "These are of New Gotham?"  
  
"These are of his old hide-outs."  
  
"His?"  
  
"The Joker."  
  
"Whoa...step back."  
  
Barbara spun in her chair, her eyes locked and snapping fire. "Look, Detective, you already know that metas exist. You already know that there are actual heroes and villain here in New Gotham who aren't like other good guys and bad guys..."  
  
"Yeah, I get that...the Joker?" Reese pushed.  
  
"I know people like to forget but how could they forget him?" Barbara muttered incredulously. "Especially you? How could you not know?"  
  
"What does that mean?" he demanded, anger seeping into his voice.  
  
"I know who you are," Barbara said quietly. "I know who your father is. It's not important. I still would have thought you would have heard of him."  
  
"The Joker," Reese repeated to himself. He waved his hand in the air, past his head. "Green?"  
  
"Yeah," she murmured, only somewhat relieved.  
  
"Wow...that was ages ago," he said, more to himself than to Oracle. "So...we're hunting the Joker?"  
  
"Yes. No. Kinda."  
  
"Which is it?" he asked impatiently.  
  
"He's somehow involved, that much I know. The guy we think took Helena..."  
  
"Helena?" Reese asked, eyes widening. "That's her name?"  
  
Oracle swore at herself. She knew better. Her emotions were racing however and she wasn't exactly thinking clearly. "Yes. Not now, huh?"  
  
"Sure. Go on about the guy who took her," Reese replied. He decided that it was wise to push that information to the back of his head. No matter how much the name enticed and stirred him.  
  
"He was a lackey for the Joker. Dexter Breslau."  
  
"Just got released from County," Reese put in. "His sheet came across my desk this morning. His prints were all over the place at the murder scene."  
  
"Well that's some confirmation at least," Barbara said, a bit of relief in her voice. It was short-lived however as she realized that the chance of her worst fears coming to life was that much more real.  
  
"Why would this Joker want Helena?" Reese asked, tasting the sound of her name on his lips. It felt good. "I don't get that."  
  
"For the same reason that someone would go after you for being Al Hawke's son," Barbara replied. She took a deep breath. "He did this to me to hurt my father." She waved a hand over herself. "He shot me."  
  
"Your father?"  
  
"Commissioner Gordon."  
  
Reese blinked. "I've heard of him. There's nothing but respect for him around the department."  
  
Barbara smiled. "I was shot to hurt my father. And to hurt another friend. That's not important now. He will hurt Helena to start the cycle of pain again. And he will hurt her in a way that will make what he did to me look like a walk in the park..."  
  
"You're saying he won't kill her?" Reese pressed.  
  
"It'll all be the same. She won't recover...she's strong but he'll break her." Barbara was beginning to sound almost hysterical.  
  
"Hey, easy..." Reese said, moving towards her. He touched her shoulder gently. "We will find her. You brought me here to help. Now come on...two heads and all that..."  
  
Barbara nodded, "Right. Thank you."  
  
He smiled softly but it didn't meet his eyes. Her words chilled him. He had seen a lot of horror in his life, usually at the hands of his father. He had learned a long time ago how to separate himself from that world. He had pushed to make a good man out of himself. He had even learned how to love in spite of the fact that he had grown up next to hate and death.  
  
He had never met a woman like Huntress. Helena.  
  
She was something extraordinary. Witty. Beautiful. Carefully composed and controlled and yet constantly compelled by her omnipresent emotions. She wore them on her sleeve. When she was hurt, she slouched. When she was playful, her eyes danced. When she was determined, her jaw set.  
  
He found himself constantly driven towards her due to the sheer strength of her will. She was bold and impetuous and seeing her filled him with excitement. She was like a neon light, constantly flashing with energy. Always drawing him closer.  
  
And now, the simple concept that someone could snuff that light in any manner scorched him all the way to the bone.  
  
"Hell no," he muttered. "Hell no."  
  
*****  
  
She heard the sound of his boots before she actually felt him enter the room. They slapped wetly against the cement, kicking muddy water up around them.  
  
He stooped down next to her, moving to inspect the corpse. He turned it over and cackled a bit, seemingly amused by the carnage. Then he turned towards her.  
  
"Hello Helena," he said, his high pitched voice cutting her like a thousand razors to her soul.  
  
She shivered a bit, suddenly noticing the coldness of the blood that was still dripping down her. It had slowed quite a bit and only a few wounds were still oozing. Almost all of them were beginning to turn several shades of green and purple. Infection of course. It was beginning to run rampant through her. It was true that metas healed at an accelerated rate but only if the injuries were taken care of and properly addressed.  
  
"You look just like her," he said, laughing with each word. "It took so long to find you. Seven years." He moved closer to her and whispered in her ear, "I know who you are. I wonder if you cry like her?"  
  
She shook and began to cough. Reflexively, she tried to move away from the monster. He slid a gloved palm over her wrist and held her tight. He turned it a bit and she felt it snap beneath the pressure.  
  
The good news was, she didn't have enough energy left to cry out. The bad news was, a tear cascaded down her ashen cheek. She gasped as she felt it slide coolly across her skin, mixing with the blood, dirt and sweat as it made its way towards her torn collar.  
  
He must have seen it because he began to laugh louder. He rose up and away from her. He went back towards the corpse and inspected it closer. Then he turned to her. "He tried to take what's mine, didn't he?"  
  
Of course, she didn't reply. He simply decided the answer for himself.  
  
She heard several gunshots then. She flinched at the first one but then quickly realized that he wasn't shooting at her. No, the crazy son of a bitch was shooting bullet after bullet into Dexter Breslau's corpse.  
  
"You're mad," she muttered.  
  
"Yes," he said with a cackle, turning back towards her. He started to move towards her again and a shot of light reflected off of him. She could see his green hair waving about wildly. His pale face gazed out at her, easily etching a couple years off of her lifespan.  
  
"Thank you," he said, moving closer. "Thank you so much."  
  
*****  
  
Reese slammed the phone down and then looked over at the two women who were watching him impatiently. "Westside," he said. "It's condemned. And it's the only one left on the list."  
  
Barbara nodded urgently. "That's it then. That's where he would go."  
  
"How do we know?" Reese demanded.  
  
"I know," Barbara responded. Her voice was barely more than a whisper now. She was putting everything she had into the hope that her hunch was right because she rather guessed that they only had one chance. If they didn't get to Helena quickly and he did...well then it probably wouldn't matter.  
  
"Ok, then what are we waiting for?" Dinah asked.  
  
Reese shook his head, "No...this is me." He looked over at Barbara. "No offense but if this guy is as hard-core as you say..."  
  
"Joker's not a fighter," Oracle cautioned. "He's not going to go hand to hand. Reese, he prides himself on being creative."  
  
"So I should be expecting exploding lilies?"  
  
"Don't make a joke of this," Barbara hissed.  
  
"I'm sorry but if I see him, I will shoot to kill," Reese promised.  
  
Barbara nodded and smiled almost wistfully. "Just get her out of there, Reese. You can't take her to the hospital so we'll be waiting nearby. Just get her out of there. Please."  
  
*****  
  
She'd heard Barbara tell the stories but she had never really given them much thought. What she knew was that this son of a bitch had murdered her mother as part of a vendetta. What she knew was that the loon-bag had taken Babs' legs in a horrific act of advance retribution. Beyond that, she had really tuned out the details of many of his heinous acts.  
  
But as he drew the slim blade across her skin, finishing off the letter "J" that he was carving into her left cheek, she began to really understand the true evil that the warped Clown Prince of Crime represented.  
  
He began to whistle then. It sounded like Pop Goes the Weasel. He stopped and studied his work. Then he leaned forward and while still laughing, he licked the blood away from her skin.  
  
She shook violently, practically convulsing. She felt the skin on her cheek go dead and she was suddenly gripped with the insane need to rip the flesh off and away from her. It felt like it was crawling.  
  
"Mmm," he squealed. "A close match."  
  
Her eyes snapped open. She couldn't really see him because he had faded back into the shadows nor did she have any dying desire to bring him into the light. That said, she had fought too long to simply become this psycho's learn to carve toy.  
  
"Go to hell," she hissed, trying to kick out her legs.  
  
He jumped back and frowned at her. "Now that wasn't very nice." He said it almost like he was disappointed in her. He moved towards her quickly and grasped her jaw in his strong hands. "Not nice at all."  
  
She felt something very cold go against her parched lips. It felt almost like metal. "Little Cat-baby," he hissed. "Manners must be learned." And with that he jammed the barrel of the pistol he was holding in his hand into her mouth. She cried out in horrified protest as she tasted dirt against her tongue. He held it there for a moment, twisting it around in her mouth, making her wait for it.  
  
"Bang," he said and pulled the trigger.  
  
Everything stopped for a minute before she realized that nothing had happened. She could taste something foul in her mouth, almost like spoiled milk. He was laughing again.  
  
He pulled the gun out of her mouth and let her drop away.  
  
Perhaps it would have been wise to stop right there; to let him continue cackling to himself. Perhaps simple intelligence would have told her that holding her tongue would have saved her a lot of pain and trouble.  
  
Unfortunately Helena Kyle hadn't been built that way.  
  
"I think you're losing your touch," she coughed out.  
  
The evil villain known as the Joker narrowed his eyes dangerously. He stepped away from her and over towards the corpse of Breslau. She could see the handles of an oddly-coloured gym bag. He withdrew something from it and she saw it gleam wickedly. As he came back over towards her, she saw that it was a metal mallet.  
  
Her eyes practically bugged out of her sockets. Her breath caught violently and she felt her heart skip a beat or two. She swallowed deeply, her mind whirling in protest of what she could see was about to come.  
  
He shook his head at her. "Poor little kitty. You must be trained, Better trained." He lifted the mallet above his head, paused for a beat and then brought it slamming down.  
  
She moved at the very last moment. Not enough to evade the blow completely but just enough to keep her legs from absorbing the full impact. An impact that surely would have crushed the bones and devastated the cartilage, As it was, she could hear the violent cracks as the metal slapped against her.  
  
Just broken. Just broken. Not crushed.  
  
She would walk again. It would be okay. She laughed a bit, not at all enjoying the sick irony of the situation. It sounded more like a sob.  
  
"Look," he cried out, "the kitty is making a mess all over her box." She still hadn't quite figured out what he kept calling her feline like names. Apparently he was confused. Maybe he thought she was her mother. Or maybe he was just a general loon-bag and trying to get too deep into his mind was only asking for trouble.  
  
She heard a siren then. Loud and piercing, She swallowed hard, not quite understanding. She wondered if the pain of the new injury had pushed her into a hallucinatory state. She wondered if that would be so bad. Her fight was gone; even she knew that. He was going to do to her whatever the hell he wanted to do at this point. She was defenseless. He knew it. She knew it. Hell, even Breslau probably knew it. Dead and all.  
  
The siren grew in pitch as it came closer.  
  
Her tormentor stood, looking confused and alarmed. Well at least he had stopped laughing for a moment. That was something. So if it was a hallucination, well then at least it was a vaguely pleasant one. And hey, since it was hers...how about the White Knight?  
  
She heard a car come to a screeching halt. The siren remained on, wailing loudly. Headlights cut through the darkness of the condemned warehouse, illuminating the Joker's face fully.  
  
God if he didn't look pissed off.  
  
And then he laughed again.  
  
The son of a bitch laughed. Then he smiled and shrugged like it all didn't really matter after all. Like it was aw shucks and too bad. He stood up and began to gather his things.  
  
"Another time then," he said. He leaned down towards her, the scent of death hanging on him. He pressed his lips to her cheek. "Beautiful just like her. I'll let you live a bit longer,"  
  
She felt his tongue fork out and slide against her skin, leaving a thick trail of saliva. She gasped and nearly vomited, her body twitching violently. She began to spasm, the pain finally catching up and pushing her over the edge.  
  
He stood up abruptly and began to fire shots at the doorway. Not bullets but flares. Smoke filled the room and she heard several crashes.  
  
He had escaped again.  
  
Of course.  
  
It didn't matter.  
  
She slumped fully to the ground, the fingers of her left hand touching her cheek, scratching violently at the skin. It was almost as if she was trying to tear it away from the bone.  
  
Arms went around her.  
  
She heard him say, "God."  
  
She wanted to laugh. So far God hadn't managed to put in much of an appearance. The sound wouldn't come though.  
  
At least she didn't think so. She stopped to think. To concentrate.  
  
She could hear a noise that sounded almost like sobbing. Heavy wracking blows. She wondered who sounded so broken.  
  
She realized after a long horrifying moment that the person who was crying like she was being torn apart was herself.  
  
It was she who sounded so shattered.  
  
Oh God indeed.  
  
He drew her closer to him. "Shh, baby. Shh. You're okay now."  
  
She fell against his chest. Her White Knight. Okay, this hallucination could stay. If she could die like this, it would be acceptable. In his arms. She could feel the tight muscles of his abs. His strength comforted her and lulled her towards safety. She wasn't the type who often desired the protection of others but this was different. This was peace.  
  
She thought about Barbara and Dinah. They would miss her terribly. Babs would be crushed. But maybe it would be better. Maybe Barbara would finally pack things up and get the hell away from her own personal hell. Maybe she would finally go after Dick Grayson and try to find some semblance of normalcy. Of course, she'd take Dinah with her. They'd pull together their own family. It would be okay.  
  
It had to be.  
  
She felt him lift her, ever so gently. He drew something around her; it felt like his overcoat. The sheer size of the jacket dwarfed her. He continued to murmur into her ear. He kept calling her baby. He kept promising her that she'd be okay now.  
  
She chose to believe him.  
  
She felt him press a petal-soft kiss to her feverish forehead. He took her hand away from her cheek and stopped her from tearing the skin all the way to the bone. It was already burning with a searing pain.  
  
"Easy now baby," he said. "You're going home now." He coughed a little bit, waving off the smoke.  
  
She closed her eyes and let the pain sweep across her. It was sheer agony but she chose only to feel the strength of his arms holding her.  
  
And then finally, she allowed the darkness to take her.  
  
Her White Knight had come for her after all. Even in her hallucinations. It was all okay now.  
  
"Home," she slurred, just moments before he felt her body go slack. She was out, exhaustion and pain finally taking hold.  
  
*****  
  
He paced the room impatiently, the ground beneath him groaning in protest. He stared at the door to the lab, his dark eyes burning holes into the foot- thick metal. He stared at his watch. Three minutes later than the last time he had looked.  
  
"Coffee, sir?"  
  
He blinked and turned, startled by the refined English voice. "Uh? Yeah?"  
  
"My name is Alfred, sir. I take care of these women," the butler informed Reese. "Or at least I attempt to."  
  
"Right, okay." He shook his head. "I don't get this at all."  
  
Alfred smiled wistfully. "Do you mean all of this, sir? He motioned around the room. "Or do you mean Miss Helena?"  
  
"Both," Reese groaned. "I knew she was part of something. I just...this wasn't what I imagined."  
  
"Are you disappointed?"  
  
"No," Reese said quickly. "Just taking it all in."  
  
"Fair enough. One lump or two then?"  
  
Reese blinked again. Then he chuckled. "None, thanks."  
  
Alfred nodded and stepped away. Then he stopped. "Miss Helena is a remarkable woman, sir. You needn't worry; she will come through this."  
  
"Your mouth to God and all of that," Reese replied, his eyes once again glued on the metal door.  
  
Alfred nodded and made a hasty exit. The tension around was palpable. This girl meant so much to all of them. She was all he had left of Master Bruce. But she was so very much more to Barbara. She was her family. Her continuance. Her salvation.  
  
The girl who had once been known as Batgirl was an amazing woman now. Oracle. Gifted beyond imagination. And about as emotionally damaged as you could possibly get. But she held on tight to Helena. Her charge. Her new beginning.  
  
He shuddered to think what would occur if Helena were to pass. He rather imagined that the ramifications of such would be quick and devastating.  
  
God help them all.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
She pressed her head against the cool metal of the wall. Minutes of panic had turned into hours of frustration until she had finally managed to stabilize Helena.  
  
Now all they could do was wait for Huntress to awaken. To show them that she would be up and fighting again in no time.  
  
She glanced at the medical read-outs that were showing up on every screen. There was a monitor that was black now. She had been using it to talk to a doctor friend of hers. He had guided her through everything.  
  
"Any time now," she said. She looked down at her friend, bothered deeply by what she saw. The cuts and bruises were bad but not necessarily serious. The head wound was going to take some time to heal but scans hadn't shown any signs of permanent damage. They weren't likely to really know until Helena came around and was able to walk and talk. If she could of course.  
  
The other injury was a bit more worrisome. Whatever had hit her in the legs had broken each in three places. She also had a broken wrist and several cracked ribs.  
  
She was doing great really.  
  
The damage to her face was mostly superficial. Nothing there was broken. The Joker had carved his "J" into both of her cheeks but that could be easily corrected by a few skin grafts. There was a series of deep gashes just below her cheek-bone. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that Helena had hurt herself there.  
  
But that was absurd really.  
  
She took a deep breath and then stepped towards the metal door. It was time to give Reese and Dinah an update. Before they both went certifiably nuts.  
  
She pressed a panel next to the door and it slid open revealing the intense visage of Detective Reese.  
  
"Well," he demanded, "Is she alright?"  
  
*****  
  
Several days had passed since the woman who had called herself Oracle had come out of the lab and told him that it looked like Helena would recover. She had said that the injuries were quite severe but that she was holding it together. Things looked promising.  
  
That had been the last update. Helena had remained in a light coma, her body fighting desperately to beat off the infection that wanted to overtake her. Oracle had told him that it was likely to be a constant battle for the next few days.  
  
Oracle.  
  
Since the time he had left their base of operations, he had done some research. He had found out that Oracle was really thirty-three year old Barbara Gordon. She taught computers at New Gotham High.  
  
Seven years ago she had been crippled by a single bullet. It had shattered her spine and left her paralyzed from the waist down. Back then it had been characterized as a hit meant as a warning to Commissioner James Gordon. But he knew better. Sure, it had been a sign to Gordon but it hadn't been one to tell him to back off.  
  
No...the sign the Joker had left for Jim Gordon that night had been a challenge. Come get me if you can but see what I take first.  
  
Now Helena. Her last name was Kyle. Most of her life was something of a mystery. No father listed and her mother was shrouded in secrets and what seemed like fanciful half-truths. She had been formally adopted by Barbara Gordon at the age of sixteen. Four months after her mother had been slaughtered in the streets of New Gotham.  
  
On the same night that Barbara had been shot.  
  
It was all really crazy.  
  
Helena Kyle. It was a beautiful name. He had worked the name over a thousand times and it hadn't seemed to lose its allure. He had been somewhat worried that her name was going to turn out to be something like Jennifer or Dee.  
  
Helena was perfect.  
  
His phone rung loudly, pulling him from his thoughts. He chuckled uncomfortably, more than a little thankful for the sudden distraction.  
  
"Reese," he said.  
  
"It's Oracle, Detective. She's awake."  
  
He jumped up, his heart pounding. "Can I..."  
  
"Dinah's outside with the van. Let her blindfold you."  
  
"Do I have to?" he protested. There was a long pause and then he sighed. "Okay, sure."  
  
"Good. I'll see you shortly."  
  
"Right. Okay."  
  
*****  
  
She was sitting up, propped up by what looked like about twenty pillows. She still looked pale and rather ashen but there was a dull pink in her cheeks. The nasty laceration that she had caused to herself seemed to jump off her face.  
  
She smiled up at him. "Detective," she said, her voice too soft to have it's usual lilt to it. She sounded hoarse and unfocused. Just the same, the way she said his name made him shift his feet a bit.  
  
"Hi," he said, approaching her. He did so slowly, almost cautiously. He didn't want to alarm her. He wasn't sure if he even could but he knew he didn't want to. "You look..."  
  
"Like shit," she laughed. "I get that."  
  
He thought that her laugh sounded off. Tortured maybe. Her eyes were so sad and he wondered for a moment if what he saw was fear.  
  
No. Couldn't be. Not her. She sulked and she brooded. She threw attitude around like it was going out of business. And she did it all fearlessly.  
  
"Just a few minutes," Barbara said from behind him. "I want her to get her sleep."  
  
"Okay," he agreed. He moved over towards her bed and sat down. "I guess I saved your ass this time, huh?"  
  
She snorted. "Keeping a running tally are we?"  
  
"I kind of figure we should. You know, with the amount of trouble we seem to get into and all..." he stopped, not knowing quite how to continue.  
  
"Okay," she agreed. "I'm sure I'm still up on you."  
  
He laughed, warmed to hear her defiance surfacing. "I'm sure."  
  
"Reese," Barbara said from the doorway.  
  
He lifted a hand. "Just a minute." He looked back at her. "So Helena, huh?"  
  
"Who told?" she asked, her eyes beginning to droop.  
  
"It's not important," Reese assured her. "Just that you're okay."  
  
"Mmm 'kay, now," she slurred, her blue eyes completely closed now.  
  
"Good," he said. He moved to stand and then stopped. He knelt back down and dropped a tender kiss onto her forehead. "Thank God."  
  
He stood up and moved towards Barbara who was standing in the doorway. She offered him an understanding smile but it seemed to him that she knew something he didn't. Or maybe had figured it out quicker.  
  
"Jesse," Helena said from behind them. Her voice sounded drugged but she was suddenly very deliberate with her words.  
  
He turned. It was the first time that she had ever said his given name.  
  
"Thank you," she said and then fell back off.  
  
He wanted to go to her then and scoop her into his arms. He found himself suddenly consumed with the need to hold and protect her.  
  
But that wasn't his place.  
  
Not yet anyways.  
  
He quickly waved away the thought. He looked at Barbara. "I'd like to stay until she wakes again if that's okay?"  
  
Barbara smiled at him. "That's fine. You can take this shift watching her. I'm exhausted." She stifled a yawn with her hand.  
  
"Go on," he said. "Get some sleep. I won't let anything hurt her."  
  
Barbara turned and studied him. Then she smiled. "I know."  
  
*****  
  
"Hello little kitty," he said, moving closer to her. She could feel his icy breath against her skin. It smelled so foul. He touched her face with her fingers. "Kitty, kitty."  
  
A sudden light shone down on him. Almost like a spot-light.  
  
And she could see his face. So white and hideous. His cheekbones stretched the skin in bizarre ways. He opened his mouth to laugh and she saw was darkness. He pulled a gun out of his pocket and began to wave it around.  
  
She screamed.  
  
"Shhh," she heard. "It's okay. Just a dream. Just a bad dream."  
  
She blinked and slowly allowed the fog to drift away from her. "Reese?"  
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
She realized he was holding her, rocking her.  
  
She could have protested then. The fear in her bones seemed to be screaming. And yet when Reese touched her, it all melted away.  
  
She collapsed against him. "Just a dream," she repeated.  
  
He took her small hand in his and squeezed it. She moaned softly and then let sleep lull her back again.  
  
This time she felt a little bit safer.  
  
No more nightmares tonight.  
  
And for this night, that would be good enough.  
  
-FIN 


End file.
